


First Contact

by vanillafluffy



Category: Criminal Minds, The Three Investigators | Die drei ??? - Various Authors
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Two of a Kind - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4075309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The circumstances surrounding the initial meeting of Jupiter Jones and Dr. Spencer Reid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Contact

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a 'verse I refer to as "The Private Lives of Dr. Spencer Reid and Jupiter Jones". I began it several years ago,so it has diverged from Criminal Minds canon substantially (Emily is still with the team, no Maeve story arc, Strauss is still in power, etc.). Originally it was an ongoing correspondence with another fan who kept egging me on for more details. This resulted in several full-length stories, a few ficlets and some meta. Some of it is porny, some not so much. Ratings will reflect m/m relationship.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> .

They say all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

Spencer Reid disagrees. The challenge of his job is considerably more engaging for him than a so-called vacation. He’s due to fly back to DC in two days, and he isn’t relishing the inactivity.

In the last week, he’s presented three papers at as many different conferences, spent two days visiting his mother, and last night, he gave a talk at UCLA about Billy Flynn, the “Prince of Darkness” killer.

Now, he’s forcing himself to relax at the Los Angeles hotel, which he realizes is an oxymoron. Nevertheless, he’s reclining poolside with his tablet, patiently working his 52nd sudoku of the day, when his phone rings.

The word “Salvage” is displayed. The area code is in Southern California, but he can’t imagine who it might be. Curiosity and boredom win out. “Reid here.”

“Dr. Reid, it’s an honor to speak with you,” says a male voice. Not young, not old. What passes for a local accent. “My name is Jupiter Jones. I’ve been following your publications for years.”

“Thank you,” Reid responds automatically. “How can I help you, Mr. Jones?”

“I had very much hoped to come to your presentation last night,” says Jones, “but unfortunately circumstances did not permit. I’d be pleased if you’d be my guest for dinner this evening?”

Jones is polite, he speaks well, and his choice of words suggests he’s educated. it’s possible that he’s what he presents himself to be, a local crime enthusiast. 

“I understand you may be concerned,” Jones continues smoothly. “In your profession, you undoubtedly meet a great many unstable individuals. You’re welcome to investigate me. Chief Rand of the Rocky Beach police department will vouch for my character. I can be reached at this number at any time. Again, my regards on your work.”

Curiosity is definitely ascendant. Reid Googles the number, and in a surprisingly short time, has the Chief of Police himself on the line.

“I’m very familiar with Jupiter Jones,” says the Chief. “He’s been assisting our department since my predecessor’s time. Although he isn’t a member of the force, he is an honorary deputy.”

“Assisting in what capacity?” Reid asks. It’s not uncommon for organized offenders to cozy up to police to monitor what’s known about their own activities.

There’s a pause. “He’s an amateur investigator,” the Chief says at last. “A good one. He’s helped us locate a missing woman who’d stolen an elderly gentleman’s life savings. He tracked down an art thief who made off with several valuable pieces. He even helped us bust a gang of kids who were breaking into cars and committing acts of vandalism. This is a small department, Dr. Reid, so his help has been welcome.”

“So you know him fairly well, and you don’t think meeting him would be dangerous?”

There’s a half-chuckle. “There’s nothing hinky about Jupiter Jones. He’s a solid citizen. Well, he might talk your ear off. He can be a little long-winded sometimes, and he’s got quite a vocabulary.”

That gibes with Reid’s impression from Jones’s phone call, but he’s pretty sure he can hold his own in the vocabulary department. 

His next call is to Garcia, who seems to be spending her Saturday morning in domestic labor. “Dust Bunnies ‘R’Us!” she greets him. “Speak to me, O Boy Wonder! Give me something to do besides spring clean!”

“Can I get you to see what you can find out about Jupiter Jones of Rocky Beach, California?”

Garcia hmms; keys are being tapped in the background. There’s a brief silence

“Jupiter Kenneth Jones. Very interesting guy. He and a couple buddies started what they called ‘The Three Investigators’, a mystery-solving club, back in junior high. They operated out of Jones Salvage Yard, which was owned by Jupiter’s Uncle Titus and Aunt Matilda.”

“Junior high?” echoes Reid. “How old is this guy?”

“Twenty-eight,” Garcia answers promptly. “Anyway, they were good enough to be written up in the local paper pretty often for a few years. It wasn’t all kid stuff, either. The police department was tolerant of their activities, and Chief Reynolds even gave them cards asking other jurisdictions to help them when necessary.”

“I talked to a Chief Rand.”

“Chief Rand took over when Reynolds retired…let’s see…four and a half years ago. There are currently ten full-time and six part-time officers on the Rocky Beach police force, not including the chief and a couple clerical personnel.”

“The current chief says Jones is an honorary deputy.”

“He discovered a murder weapon that had been discarded at the salvage yard a few years ago, and it turned out to be crucial in solving the case,” Garcia supplies. “There’s also coverage of an art theft that he solved…and it seems he won a bake-off with his orange sour cream cake. Mmm, that sounds good!”

“What about the rest of the Three Investigators? Are they deputies, too?”

“No, it looks like life after high school took them in different directions. Pete Crenshaw went to UCLA on an athletic scholarship. He started as a drama major, quit after his first term and became a stunt man. According to IMDb, for the last few years, he’s worked steadily for that procedural police drama, the one with all the speedboats and swimsuit models. 

“Bob Andrews was a journalism major, also at UCLA. Graduated by the skin of his teeth, probably because he was busy drawing a comic strip that’s since been nationally syndicated. It’s the ‘Bob Drew’ series, the one with the gang of kids in office jobs.”

“I’ve seen it. What about Jones?”

“It’s really sad,” Garcia sounds regretful. “He had a scholarship to Stanford, but his uncle passed away just after his high school graduation. Jupiter turned down the scholarship to help his aunt with the salvage yard. He’s kept busy, though. He’s taken a bunch of on-line courses. I’ve found a few articles he’s published on ecological topics, especially recycling and creative repurposing and---hold on, Morgan’s on my other line—“

“It’s okay, Garcia, that’s good enough.”

It sounds like dinner with Jones should be safe. His references are impeccable, and Garcia will have his inquiry as a starting point in the event he’s wrong. At least it’ll get him out of the hotel for a few hours.

He doesn’t really expect anything more than that.


End file.
